


Claws in the water

by Lustingaftervillains



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dominance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2785175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lustingaftervillains/pseuds/Lustingaftervillains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal’s door is always open to Will - and when in the middle of the night, running away from the beast in his nightmares, he comes to him once more, he may just find a little more than the help he thought he needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claws in the water

Once satisfied with the temperature of the running water, Hannibal pulled back from the large clawfoot tub, wiping his hand dry with a square towel.

“The bath salts are here,” he told Will – the first words he had uttered since his friend had showed up, shivering and bloodied, at his doorstep in the middle of the night. Will supposed he knew just how much he had valued that silence. He himself had yet to say a single word.

There wasn't much to say, anyway – he had fallen asleep on his couch, at home, and opened his eyes again to find himself in the middle of the forest, running away from a beast he thought he could hear right behind him in the dark. He had shouted, he had screamed, he had cursed when branches and vines left vicious cut on his flesh through his shirt, as treacherous roots tripped him. He didn't know how long that had lasted, until he'd found his car, engine running and headlights on by the side of the road. He'd thought he was losing his mind, and had choked on a laugh that was too big and sharp-angled for his throat when he'd realised that he couldn't lose something he'd probably never had to begin with.

He blinked, making a conscious effort to focus on the present, the warm fragrance of the oils Hannibal had put in the bath before he'd started running it. The blanket over his shoulder that had been the first thing his friend had given him when he'd entered his house. 

Of course he'd driven to Hannibal's house – where else? Where else could he find an ally against the monster that haunted his nights? The monster that had come so close this time. So close to touching him and make him face him. See him... And he'd almost-

No. He didn't want to be anywhere near him – it – ever again.

He tugged the blanket, making a snug fit of it as if that could smoothe away the shivers running down his spine, then looked up at Hannibal and nodded.

But when his friend walked towards the door, he found himself standing in the way. They faced each other, and Will looked up from the lapel of that dark green robe with a slightly shaky smile, an attempt at a chuckle; and when Hannibal smiled back, he found the strength to make eye contact again, just one more second.

A moment passed like that, just them and the gentle sound of the pouring water behind them. The air thickening with rising steam. Will didn't move.

Hannibal reached up for the blanket over Will's shoulders, and the younger man opened his arms to let him take it off him. He watched those hands as they carefully folded the blanket, put it away, then returned to him. 

He took in a deep breath that expanded his chest, as if to lean into the touch of those deft fingers undoing his shirt buttons, slow at first, giving him every opportunity to pull back, to say no.

Will watched his fingers, and the shaky smile returned, firmer this time; that was as close to an invitation as he was able to give, in that moment. And he was so thankful that it was enough.

The cuts he had sustained were shallow, but had bled profusely enough to soak his front. He felt the stiffness of that in the fabric of his undershirt when he took it off – but it was just a remote sensation, disconnected from him, and soon, with Hannibal's help he was standing there in his underwear.

When Hannibal reached for that last piece of clothing, Will intercepted his hand.

“I don't want-”

“I know. This is a moment of peace, Will.”

Hannibal glanced behind him at the half filled tub, and then back at Will, who nodded in agreement. Neither of them was offering – or expecting - sex. 

Will didn't want sex, not like that; he wanted – needed–

“Shall I go down and make dinner while you bathe? I have a feeling you haven't eaten much at all today.”

\- the comfort of hot water. And he didn't want Hannibal to go away.

He gave the hand in his a squeeze, and looked up into the other's face.

There was a pull in Hannibal's eyes, Will knew. He had caught glimpses of it before. Something of a formidable stillness, like a well long forgotten among ancient ruins reclaimed by wilderness. Will found himself both endlessly fascinated and scared by the mere thought of catching a glimpse of whatever had been forsaken there, lurking in the dark.

And yet, in that moment, all he could find as he stared longer than he ever had before was welcoming him. There was no darkness there with him, only the soft, warm glow of the indirect bathroom lighting, accenting the exquisite order of the place. The well was hot and fragrant, prepared just for him. Waiting – not pulling. He felt compelled to respond to that welcome.

Perhaps they could leave the dark creatures, his and Hannibal's, where they belonged, outside in the forest, for now.

Perhaps, if he was lucky, he would hear the echo of their tentalising calls as they found each other.

“Please,” he said, and put the strong, square hand he was holding on the cloth that was on his hip.

He let himself be undressed completely, guided to the water, where he sank with a grateful sigh.

Hannibal sat on a stool by the tub right behind Will, and the young man sighed, tilting his head back and closing his eyes when a thick sponge was run across his shoulders, along his arms; down his chest.

He couldn't quite suppress a moan when the man's naked hand touched him next, started working the knots of tension out of his neck.

“Hannibal,” he exhaled.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for all of this.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Will.”

Will opened his eyes again with a sheepish smile. At this angle, all he could see of his friend was the throat and the underjaw, the stubble there. And he thought he could smell, behind the elegant fragrance of the man's aftershave, a hint of the unique scent that was his skin – musky and deep. /Feral/ was the word that it evoked in Will. He took in a deep breath; he wanted to remember it later.

“I feel I am taking advantage of you,” he said, because he felt he had to speak, to react somehow.

“There's no harm in taking what is offered, Will,” came the gently amused reply, and Will stared as skin slid over muscle, with a little crease at the spot where jaw met neck.

It just so happened that, as he shifted in the bath, it brought his face that much closer to that warm, stubbled skin, and it only took the slightest tilt of his head for his mouth to press against it, just a half second too long for any plausible deniability to remain.

He huffed a chuckle, pulling back, hiding embarassment behind a tense smile that he knew the other couldn't see.

“Did I just mistake what was offered, Doctor Lecter?” He whispered when the other man stilled above him, and he hadn't finished his sentence that two warm, firm hands were holding his jaw, fingertips light on either side of his throat, feeling his pulse.

They both felt it quicken as silence stretched between them, and when Will blinked, he had a brief vision of himself from the other man's point of view, naked and vulnerable between his hands like never before. One swift movement, and he could snap Will's neck. Easier still - but perhaps messier - would be to apply sudden pressure on the arteries under his fingers: he would hardly have time to struggle before unconsciousness claimed him, his brain running out of oxygen in a handful of seconds.

It would be so /easy/. And Will shivered when he felt the echo of the power rush that was running through Hannibal. He felt it surge through him, red and rich like blood, the blinding thrill of the beast that has his prey in his claws. Connected like never before.

And none of that felt new, or unknown to Will. Had he not seen it, felt it in his very flesh night after night, when he woke up gasping? When just at that moment, that horrible, delicious moment when the beast caught him, touched him, that climax of terror and he always felt that urge to turn around and run /into/ the monster’s claws. To let it have him, to /end/ all this, once and for all.

He ran every night because he knew the beast in his nightmares would destroy him. And perhaps Hannibal would, too. Or perhaps he could trust him this far.

He was tired of running. 

He watched through two pair of eyes his own hands slowly rose out of the water to rest over the other man's, in a light, humble caress of adoring surrender.

He felt himself grow hard in the water, and he couldn't tell whether that was Hannibal's hightened sense of power at his submissiveness, or his own letting himself be so exposed.

He tipped his chin again, and again pressed his lips against flushed skin. 

“Hannibal,” he whispered there, and felt the fingers on his throat grow heavier – oh, just a little, like pulling back chops just enough to let light bounce back a set of sharp teeth.

“You are certain, Will.” the accented voice murmured. It was only half a question, like a formality to be quickly put out of the way.

“Yes, Hannibal,” he said, and punctuated each word with a quick, soft kiss on the other's throat. “I'm sure.”

There was a bite in their first kiss, and Will would always remember the taste of blood in their mouths, and being unable to tell whose it was.

He was a prey that could bite back.


End file.
